


The North Wind

by littlehuntress



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe, Elemental Magic, Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Mythology - Freeform, Pagan Gods, Paganism, Snow and Ice, omnilingualism, primordial gods
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-02-14 07:35:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13002936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlehuntress/pseuds/littlehuntress
Summary: The Valley of Lights was a mythical place, home to Gods and magic. A land that harboured many secrets, and only a few conquered.Arthur left his village and sister behind to brave the icy landscape, seeking the aid of the Gods in hopes of helping his family and change their fate.





	1. Lands of Ice

  
  
  


_Madness._

"Complete and utter madness!" Morgana cried alarmed. A tremor shook her slim frame, her face had gone ashen giving her a sickly appearance. She hadn't taken well the news of Arthur's imminent travels despite his best efforts to calmly break the news. His equable demeanor was at a breaking point. Obviously, he hadn't considered his sister's potential outburst.

"Alright. This isn't--" Morgana patted the front of her long, flowing skirt trying to compose herself. Masking the wobble in her voice with cool detachment, she asked, "Are you absolutely sure?" Arthur nodded slowly, afraid he might startle another burst of emotion from her. In the face of Arthur’s decision, she promptly listed every reason why it was a terrible idea to wander into the Lands of Ice. If he was of sound mind, he wouldn't go, she said. 

Her eyes, often lively and inquisitive had darkened with sorrow, so deep, it was a sure punch to Arthur's guts, and for an agonizing moment he contemplated staying. Only, he knew there was nothing else he could do. Arthur had exhausted all his choices long ago. He needed to leave the village. With that in mind, he ignored her sadness and trampled the guilt that flared inside him. 

"I worry," she said, bit her lip. She always had. Morgana was afraid Arthur wouldn't be able to find his way back home. Back to her. That he'd be lost to an unknown fate like so many others who'd walked those icy paths. It was easy to stray from the main road, to wander and succumb to cold and dread between the slopes and mountains. To fall prey to the snowy mirage ahead. 

"Morgana, I promise you I'll come back," Arthur said, silencing her worries. They both knew it was too late to change his mind. 

 

*

 

On a pale morning, before the sun warmed the earth, they said goodbye. Morgana, full of resignation, sent him off with a blessing and gifted him an amulet she'd spent an entire night making. She fastened a thin chain around his neck with shaky hands. An arrowhead she carved out of tree bark hung from it, and a sigil had been patiently engraved right on the middle.

"For protection," she said, hugged him tight before letting go, reluctant. 

"Thank you. I promise," he said, touching the amulet, hugging her once more, unsure of when he'd see her again. 

The village was quiet, desolate in the early hours but for small group that had gathered around him, those who mattered stood by his side, said their farewells and wished him luck. Promising to take care of Morgana.

He left with the first crow of the roosters.

In his heart, hope had blossomed, hot and bright. He would come back. 

They had always been survivors.

 

*

 

Snow stretched all around him, ice crystals fell from the sky. It was a vast and bewitching sight. A blue-white immensity lined with icy pine trees. During the day, walking on the terrain was arduous, a tiring task that often left him with sore muscles, and at night, wild beasts roamed. An overnight blizzard had made the snow on the ground grow thicker, his feet were sinking with every step he took while the snow came up above his ankles. In those conditions, his fight for survival was even more grueling. Still, he wouldn't give up.

A part of him had gotten used to life out in the open, having elks as companions, listening to the owls' midnight talks, and sleeping on caves and tunnels he found that protected him from the inclement weather. 

"What do you think? Shall we continue or do we stop here?" Arthur wondered out loud, the wind drowned out his voice. 

A red fox, with deep golden eyes stalked forward, ahead of him without looking back. Arthur supposed that was all the answer he could expect. 

Some days back he'd found it on the prowl, hunting for prey that wasn't there. He was hungry, tired, and Arthur couldn't leave him. Sharing his provisions with the fox and taking care of its hurt foot was a sure way to ensure its loyalty. It hadn't left Arthur's side since. 

He rubbed his hands together bringing them close to his face to blow his hot breath on them trying to warm them up. The cold had begun to seep through his gloves. It was good fortune he hadn't suffered from frostbite yet. One thing less to worry about. 

He kept on walking. There was nothing else to do, just walk, walk, walk.

Nighttime was fast approching when Arthur had to stop. His clothes were wet, his feet ached and his side hurt from exertion. The fox walked a circle around him before settling in close. Arthur smiled despite the conditions and his weakened body. They'd stopped by a shore. Snowy mountains and lush trees bordered both sides of the river, the thick blanket of snow he stood on was endless. 

Above him the sky was navy and bright with little dots, silver stars that served as guides to travelers much like himself. He rubbed his eyes and stared up at the firmament, breathing in the chilly air, filling his lungs until they hurt. Green and purple lights shone bright illuminating his path. They danced above, mixing and caressing the stars. Arthur took a moment to admire the lights. Bathing him in their luminosity. 

He laughed, uncontrolled, happy with relief.

He'd finally reached the Valley of Lights.


	2. Valley of Lights

His heart pounded loudly against his ribcage, its beat echoing in his ears. Arthur kept laughing, he was dizzy with wonderment, euphoric with a sense of achievement. He’d reached the end of the road and he would keep his promise. Arthur could've danced from the merriment he felt invading him. 

Every story he'd been told about the Valley since he was a child was becoming true before his eyes. A few tales said the river was an entrance, a mirror, the gateway to the netherworld. Arthur held his breath expecting the waters to part and show him the way. He chuckled when nothing happened, of course, some were fantasies. 

Thousands of brilliant dots scattered like jewels across the night sky, Arthur could see them reflected on the surface. Fallen diamonds. Arthur didn't dare to move lest he disturb the serenity of the moment. The fox waited by his side. His noble, loyal companion.

However, the stillness was broken by a loud, piercing howl.

In a blink of an eye a green fog engulfed them, shrouding the world in its haze. Confused, Arthur moved forward, but the mist followed and collided with the calm current of the river and drifted up to the heavens. White beams shooting up, lighting everything up in their wake.

Arthur stared, amazed by the spectacle he was witnessing. Magic, free, primitive, unfolding right before his eyes.

Overhead the sky was burning with a rainbow of lights, red, violet, green. A lump of stars twinkled together: Canis major.

“We did it,” Arthur whispered, proudly. His fox wagged its tail, Arthur imagined he was happy too. A gust of wind blew over the cups of trees chilling Arthur.

Behind him, someone asked, “Who are you?” 

Arthur spun around so fast he almost got whiplash.

A man with an expression of fury was watching Arthur with intent eyes, blue like the glaciers. Icy but burning with the intensity of the warmest fire. His hair was coal-black and his skin pale, the colour of milk. His clothes shone with ice crystals, a fur-trimmed cape hung from his shoulders. Arthur felt pinpricks, a shiver ran through him.

“I asked, who are you?” He repeated more demanding this time. Louder. Colder. “Why are you here?”

Arthur stared, opened his mouth, but only air came out. He fortified himself and gathered his wits trying again. “My name’s Arthur Pendragon from Ealdor. I’ve come to find the Valley of Lights.”

The man’s eyebrows shot up. “Congratulations. You've made it," he said with contempt. Arthur frowned, "But your journey ends here, it's time to turn around." He gestured behind him with a hand, a flurry of snow painting the way.

Arthur felt irritation flooding him. He’d traveled mountains of ice and snow, and lived on just one meal for weeks. He shouldn't be dismissed so easily. “Says who?”

“I do.”

“And who might you be?” Arthur challenged.

“I’m a Guardian. I protect this Kingdom you dared to disturb,” he said, simply. Arthur shut his mouth quite fast.

Guardian. A Guardian. An ancient being born from darkness and light in the depths of the universe.

Arthur took a step back, his eyes widened. He was a—

A shooting pain on his side distracted him before he could formulate another thought. He pressed his palm against it. Hard. His breathing quickened, the strain he'd been putting himself through was finally catching up with him. The pain sharpened blindsiding him. Arthur doubled over clutching his stomach.

“You are injured,” The Guardian accused. His voice less venomous than before. He put a hand on Arthur's shoulder. He was cold, so cold— and— Arthur hadn't even seen him move.

Arthur shook his head. But the pain became more pressing, exposing him.

The Guardian sighed. “You’re lying,” he said. “Come on." The Guardian aided Arthur in standing, throwing one of Arthur's arms around his neck. "Just this once I will help you, but you need to be gone by morning.”

Arthur nodded leaning his weight against him, too stunned to say anything, too exhausted to protest being manhandled. The fox jumped to follow them.

“Don't you have a sleigh?” Arthur asked, gritting his teeth. Surely a magical being didn't have the need of walking.

“I save it for special occasions,” he deadpanned.

In his current state, Arthur could only shake his head and give up any fight in him.


	3. Guardians

"Where are we?" Arthur asked, blinking dazedly.

The last thing he'd been aware of was of a chunk of ice blocking the road, and having to go down the slopes of a mountain, the Guardian holding him close and secure, and him, holding on for dear life. His body getting heavier and heavier, the cold bitting his skin. His mind drifting. Currently, he was staring at the entrance of a cave. It was unlike any other he'd seen. Blue-tinted icicles hung from the high ceilings, elongated crystalline spikes that shone. Beautiful ice stalactites. The walls were covered in hardened snow.

"This is my humble abode," the Guardian said. "Come."

Arthur was still relying on the Guardian for support. Moving too fast meant a sharp would render him useless, it was frustrating. He hated feeling useless. The Guardian helped him inside easily. Arthur ducked his head, afraid to hit one of the icicles. Behind them, the bright colourful lights were being replaced by soft morning light. Pale pinks and oranges. 

The Guardian brought him to the centre of the cave. He caught sight of a small lake with clear water and four tunnels that spread in different directions. Throughout the cave blues mixed with green. It was comforting in a way. 

"Sit down."

Arthur frowned. "What?"

A bed, large enough to fit three men, was waiting for him. It was white and pristine, surprisingly soft to the touch, Arthur had the impression it was made of ice and snow. Arthur sat down facing the Guardian, studying him moving about in the space followed by the fox. He was shaking his head, muttering under his breath, an idiom foreign to Arthur's ears. The gelid sensation that had numbed him was drifting away.

"I'll have to see your injures," he said standing in front of Arthur. He'd taken off his cloak and was about to do the same with Arthur's. He wanted to protest because he was fine, just tired. Really. Arthur didn't need to be coddled. His fox bumped his head against Arthur's leg, twice. It was a very opinionated creature.

"Fine." 

Arthur kept his eyes on the Guardian as he worked diligently with his garments until Arthur was bare chested and trembling from cold again. His long, cold fingers pressed against his side making Arthur wince in pain.

"Your stomach and side are severely bruised and you have a cut close to your navel," he said, sounding more like he was talking with himself rather than informing Arthur of the damage he'd sustained. "And I assume you haven't been sleeping like you should." 

Arthur shook his head. "I had to hasten my journey. I promised my sister I'd come back," he said, his teeth chattering. "I said I'd be home in time for the midwinter celebrations. I said I wouldn't leave her alone. Not me."

The Guardian regarded him solemnly. Eyes sharp, still icy blue and deceptively warm. "You won't." 

Arthur gasped when he felt a flood of warmth spread from between his ribs up to his chest and sides, engulfing him, burning through him. The Guardian's hand was poised over his chest, his eyes were blazing gold. He was speaking again in the strange tongue that sounded like the howl of the wind as it passed through the mountain ridge.

"You need to rest and regain your strength before you can leave," he said. He pushed Arthur down on the bed, his hand soft on his skin. "Come find me when you wake up."

He walked away leaving Arthur alone to wonder if this was a fever dream. A hallucination. 

If he'd fallen under the spell of the ice.


	4. Arthur of Ealdor

If he were home he'd be sitting in front of the fireplace on his favourite chair. Morgana would be on the rug, reading tea leaves, perhaphs carving new divination staves from sacred trees or bones, determined to get the best readings. Instead—

Arthur pinched himself on the arm, twisting until the flesh turned red. He winced at the pain. It was real. Rubbing at the reddened spot he looked around.

The ice cave was a physical and tangible testament. Arthur wasn't dreaming, an open-mouthed smile appeared on his face. He'd made it. He—

Arthur's exhilaration vanished fast, sure, he was in the Valley now, but what about tomorrow? Only one half of the journey was done, dangers were awaiting him, going back was going to be twice as hard. His provisions were depleted, his strenght and health had taken a dive. 

He balled his fists. No, he couldn't give up. He'd left so many things behind and sacrificed so much. He had to look forward.

Wind slipped in through the tunnels reaching him, whistling softly in his ear. The ice walls hissed, Arthur couldn't sleep. 

He turned to lie on his back, careful not to disturb the healing injuries. He felt restless. The ice crystals shone above him, beneath him, the snow glowed white. Yes, he was surrounded by beauty, wasn't dead, and— He needed to figure things out. 

With decision Arthur left the bed, his bare feet touched ice, he closed his eyes welcoming the cold. It helped alleviate his uneasiness.

He located his boots, put his undershirt back on and walked out following a stream of sound. A faint echo pulsating against the ice. It was strange to find he no longer was cold, the temperature was pleasant, mild, like early Spring. He dragged his fingers against the snow walls, painting a thin trail behind him. His fingertips went numb.

Arthur found the Guardian in another chamber crouching in front of his fox— _talking_ to it. The fox kept bumping his head against the Guardian's palm, at ease and content with the attention he was receiving. Arthur had never been a witness of such an extraordinary happening. The fox's vocalizations were high-pitched, merry, the Guardian imitated them in answer. They kept a steady stream of conversation, unaware of Arthur spying on them. 

"You can speak with animals too?" Arthur asked, awed. The Guardian rose turning around to face him. His eyes were pure gold, expression inscrutable. He was a confusing dichotomy. "Will you tell me your sacred name?" Arthur couldn't help his curiosity, he needed something to hold onto.

When the Guardian spoke his voice was crisp, it reverberated around them. Arthur wrapped his arms around himself to stop his shivering. "Why should I?"

"Because— because I want to thank the one who helped me," Arthur said. "You saved my life. I am grateful."

The Guardian's eyes were impassive. He took a long time to answer. "If I were to tell you, I'd need something in return. An offering."

Arthur nodded. "Yes, whatever you ask." As soon as he said it, he knew the trouble he was getting himself in. It was too late to back down though.

"I want to know why you've come here. Why you've risked your life to cross these lands." 

With his unearthly eyes on Arthur he was imposing. He was asking for a token, waiting for him to give with open hands. 

"It's a long story," Arthur answered, almost whispering, his head hanging.

"We have the whole night. I like listening to tales," he said.

Arthur didn't have much, this was all he could give. "If that is what you want."

"It is. Tell me, Arthur Pendragon of Ealdor. Why are you here?"


	5. Gods

A tight-lipped silence settled between them, Arthur didn't know where or how to start. His eyes flickered over to the Guardian, he stood to the side, arms crossed, tall, impenetrable. Expecting.

Arthur walked toward one wall, inspecting the snow, then to the other, bit his lip, sighed. 

"Take your time," the Guardian said. 

Arthur laughed, a bit desperately. Ran his hands through his hair. Morgana had thought of his journey the folly of a stubborn man, full of bravado and pride, ignited by a sense of duty, though he never fully disclosed his reasons to go as far as the Valley to seek what he couldn't find in Ealdor, and the neighboring villages. 

Perphaps he'd been foolish. 

"You should take a seat," the Guardian said, interrupting his thoughts. "You seem to be close to collapse." He gestured behind Arthur with a hand, Arthur's brows furrowed. "What--" 

The ground beneath them rumbled, the icy surface cracked, one long, spindly fracture, expanding. Arthur jumped out of the way before it could reach him. From it, a smooth, fine seat materialized. The ice around it hardening again. Arthur closed his mouth stepping closer, tentatively, he touched the back. It was-- marvelous. 

"You can sit," the Guardian said. "I promise it's like every chair you've come across."

Arthur shook his head stupefied, thinking he'd never get used to magic, to the secrets these lands harbored. He sat down gingerly testing the seat before putting his full weight on it. It was as comfortable as the snowy bed. "It's not. I don't often sit on thrones of ice."

The Guardian chuckled low moving closer to him, producing a chair of his own with the flick of a wrist. With another wave a crackling fire burst between them. It was a pale violet colour, azure right in the middle. It flickered illuminating their faces, casting their shadows, dark, elongated figures painting them like giants on the ice.

Unable to stop himself Arthur reached out, the flames licked his fingertips tickling them, the fire was hot, but it didn't burn. It only spread warmth. The cave's gelid structure was abnormally cozy.

Fascinated, Arthur let the flames warm his skin. Then, a thought, clear and undeniable appeared in his mind. He looked up, eyes widened, hand suspended above the fire. 

"You— You are not just a Guardian," Arthur said, his head tilted to the side, eyes steady on the Guardian. "I read something once — And before — The wind, that was you! And you can manipulate fire too. Are you—" Arthur took a deep breath

"This is about you," the Guardian said firmly cutting him off. His expression didn't betray a single emotion. "I'm waiting."

Arthur sobered up, he wanted answers too, more than ever, but thought best not to press his luck. "You are right. I don't intend to break a promise to a _God."_

For the first time Arthur saw a crack. The Guardian avoided his gaze, his jaw was clenched tight, it was as if Arthur's assertion had provoked unwanted feelings. He didn't understand. Perhaps it was a trick. Gods were known to use mortals for their own amusement. They were pawns. Playthings. 

He shifted in his seat, said, "I've come here to gain the favour of the Gods." 

"What for?" His voice was frosty. 

"For my sister," Arthur said, pushing the words out. He scrubbed a hand down his face. "And now I've found you. You're real. I know you've already help me, but please, I need to ask you one more thing. I promise I'll give you a token of worship, we could even build you a shrine." Arthur knew he was close to begging, he needed help, he needed to be listened. 

The Guardian stared at him with narrowed-eyes. 

No fire could've warmed the bitter cold numbing his heart. Arthur's last hope was crushed. 


	6. Merlin

Slowly, the Guardian's face broke into a smile. Arthur couldn't decide if it was comforting or not. 

In here, Arthur didn't know where he stood. What was real, what he could believe in. 

Maybe, he should've told him the whole story, come out with it with no fear of the outcome, but the words were stuck inside him, and the moment had already passed. His chance gone as quickly as it came. 

“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve turned away men and women?” The Guardian asked. "You are not the first one to come here looking for divine intervention." His smile unwavering, Arthur had the feeling an answer wasn't required of him. He remained silent, hands in his lap, watching the Guardian's face closely. Hoping the mirth and wonderment he was reading wasn't just wishful thinking. 

He looked directly at Arthur. His eyes too bright and open. A hole opened up in Arthur’s stomach, his hearbeat was racing. The cave was suddenly smaller around him. 

Arthur opened his mouth, but only air came out. Today he was being terrible at communicating. 

Words had failed him time and time again, it was nothing new. For most of his life he'd struggled to say what he really was thinking, what he felt, once the words had left his mouth they'd already been morphed by what Arthur believed what was the right to say, considering what others wanted to hear from him. 

This is time, he knew nothing but the truth would do. His hands closed into fists, he bit his bottom lip, worrying the skin until he was tasting copper. 

"You said you're doing this for your sister," the Guardian began, Arthur nodded. "When I saw you by the waters, I thought you were one of those so called adventurers, seeking things they can't understand, wanting to unearth the secrets of the Valley. I never imagined you could’ve been here for someone else, and not for your own gain. Humans want glory, fame, love they cannot have." 

Arthur scoffed loudly. "Isn't that too much of a cynical view for a God?" 

He was surprised by laughter, genuine, without malice. "When you've lived as long as I have, you start to become jaded, whether you want it or not," the Guardian said. "But don't worry, I'm still an optimist on my better days." 

"Right." 

Arthur didn't like the silence inside the cave, the wind spoke too loud, and there was something unsettling about the way the Guardian stared at him, as if he knew something Arthur couldn't even begin to grasp. 

"I think I'll be able to help you," the Guardian said, his voice terribly loud. Arthur felt his heart seize up. "If you want me to, that is." 

Arthur jumped to his feet, his eyes wild. "I do. I prom--" 

"No, don't go around making me any more promises. They are easy to break and I don't need them," the Guardian said. "Just, answer me this, why go through all this, the cold, the hunger, for your sister?" 

He looked down, his boots were worn. He would need new ones soon. "Because I love her, and I want her safe. She needs me." His words were so soft, they barely were a whisper, but somehow they'd reached the Guardian, because he too was on his feet, his hand heavy on Arthur's shoulder and his eyes on his, paralyzing him. He was smiling, eyes crinkled and in that moment he looked young, warm, friendly, no longer a mythical being with unlimited power. It was simply, him. 

"Call me Merlin," he said. Arthur's eyes widened, he couldn't move. 

He rolled the word around in his tongue before saying, "Merlin."

Merlin's smile was one of those brilliant things that were hard to forget, like guiding lights on a dark night.


	7. Ancient Tales

Sunlight peaked in through cracks in the ice, it was soft, caressing the icy wall, almost white looking when Arthur noticed it was finally morning. He'd had a rough night, barely slept thinking about Morgana waiting for him, probably worried, wondering if he'd keep his promise to her. He wondered for how much longer she'd hold on. 

And then thinking of Merlin who was everything he wasn't expecting. All the tales he heard growing up painted beings like him as mysterious, reserved, isolated from the human world, looking on. But then-- 

Last night Merlin smiled, offered his name and Arthur had been lost. He wasn't the frosty character their first meeting had him believing. 

Arthur couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was, but there was something about him that had Arthur's thoughts running amok. They made little sense. 

He did wonder if now that he knew Arthur had a sister he'd use the information against him. Despite their protective nature, you couldn't trust them with blind eyes. 

When she was younger, Morgana used to carry a book of ancient tales Alice gave her, everywhere she went, more than once Artur had to pry the book away from her hands, careful not to wake her. He'd sit on the chair in her room and read through the pages. They told tales of sorrow and love, of fate pulling the strings. There were lovers turned into stars, flowers, and rain, lovers scorned, lovers loved and lost. Remebered for all eternity. Only because they'd loved something bright so much. 

Arthur remembered those tales now more than ever. 

He jumped at the sound of Merlin's voice, echoing on the walls, he was getting closer. His shadow was on the frost was the imposing, fear-inducing figure he was supposed to be. A wild thumping in Arthur's chest had him wringing his hands, Merlin, when he finally came to view was the same as Arthur had last seen him. Relaxed, aloof, and there was a possibility he had smiled for the briefest of moments. 

Perplexed by him once more, Arthur uttered the first thing that came to his mind, he asked, "How old are you? Is it millennia?" 

Merlin's face did this thing where it was stuck between a gape and a frown, Arthur was almost sure he was about to be thrown out onto the snow. 

"I fail to see how that is relevant to any of this, I'm here to help you, not provide you with my life story," Merlin said, leaving no room for protests. 

Arthur took a moment to process what he'd just heard. "Did you-- Are you-- You'll help me?"

As an answer, Merlin threw a small sack and a cape in Arthur's directions. He knew better than to ask where they'd come from. Merlin might not be one of those temperamental Gods, but he did have a sharp tongue. 

Inside the sack there were some fruits and bread, his stomach rumbled at the sight, he bit down on an apple, it was sweet and juicy. Better than any other apple he'd tasted. The cape was warmer than his, made of better material. The bone-chilling cold wouldn't defeat him as fast. 

"Thank you," he said, between bites. 

Merlin nodded, turned around, said, " Get ready. We'll leave today."


	8. Camelot

Under the pale morning sun the snow glowed whiter than ever, almost washed out, terrifyingly blinding. Arthur shielded his eyes and looked up, the skies were blue, cloudless, vastly different from the mornings he'd spent alone roaming these lands. He had gotten used to grey, stormy skies, always threatening him with a tempest that never came. 

Arthur rather liked the sunlight. 

"Hey," he called out to Merlin a few paces ahead of him. He didn't seem to care to see if Arthur was following him or not, as if he was confident Arthur would mirror his steps. His fox was jumping next to him, Arthur tried not to feel betrayed. 

"What?" Merlin answered, stopping just long enough to throw Arthur a cursory glance over his shoulder. "Don't tell me you're already tired, I thought your name was synonymous with intrepid. I seem to have misjudged your character after all." 

Arthur caught up with him, their footsteps a twin imprint on the snow. "I am not tired," he protested, narrowing his eyes. "I want to get home, the sooner the better." 

He could feel Merlin's eyes on him, dark and inquisitive. "You really miss it, don't you? Home." 

It was more of an affirmation than an actual question, he didn't bother with an answer. Merlin didn't need to hear his longing for a place he'd come to love. Arthur let his mind wander instead, back to Ealdor, to its people and his own house. To the family he'd found there. Inevitably, his thoughts strayed. In his mind's eye he saw a castle, gleaming withe much like the snow beneath his feet. It was a distant memory, a far away land he could've made up in dreams.

"Ealdor wasn't always home," he said, surprising even himself. His voice sounded rough and tiny, he hoped Merlin didn't hear him, but it was too much to ask. 

"Go on." That was all Merlin uttered. It was enough. Suddenly, Arthur couldn't keep silent. 

"Morgana and I, we were born in Camelot," Arthur said, he felt his heart beating loudly and painfully against his ribs. That was his secret out in the open being carried by the wind. 

"Camelot?" Merlin asked, his tone serious. Arthur nodded, Merlin took a deep breath before nodding to himself, giving Arthur the impression he'd just stored the information for later use. "I thought-- I don't know what I thought. Didn't Camelot fall?" 

The question hurt, his memories were plagued by dark smoke and fire, by hundreds of voices crying out for help, hoping someone would come to their rescue. Save them from the agony. Hoping to see another day. 

"Yes. Our parents sent us away, we ran and ran and found a new place to belong." Morgana barely remembered, making it through the woods, leaving their war-torn hometown behind, and finding safety days later, hungry and cold. Arthur remembered everything. It hurt knowing he won't be back, he longed to see the sunsets over Camelot, casting an orange glow over the citadel, the skyline a mix of hues that in his childish innocence, Arthur thought could reach with his fingertips, if he was a giant. 

His mother had smiled vehemently at him when he asked her if it was possible to grow to the size of a tower. 

"Arthur?" Merlin's fingers around his wrist brought him back to the present. He hated how blue Merlin's eyes were. Arthur found himself thinking he couldn't lie to him. 

Arthur put on a smile shrugging. Merlin still wouldn't let go of him. "I think you said something about a shortcut earlier?"


End file.
